Did Boy Kill? He Killed Them All.

June 15, 2013 at 12:00 AM

This is Part 5 and the last installment of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the previous installments in the linked tag.

They are dead.

They are all fucking dead; my husband, Tim, the Catholic and Voodoo priests, Dr. Hamani… everyone. And it’s my fault… and your fault. All you fucking Redditors. Snooping and prying and searching and meddling. I’ll say this; you all are a resourceful, twisted bunch. Everything from articles to incantations to recommendations for shrinks, priests and doctors flooded my PM box. Since I was desperate enough to try anything and everything I could read, I found myself trying to hide the mess. A bloody mess created by your need to meddle. And now these “friends” are all dead.

I can’t even be thankful for the one thing those incantations you all sent me did. They brought my son back to me. The only problem, the biggest of problems really, was that the real Timmy, Jr. WAS the problem. Come to find out, my son has a gift (or a curse depending which side of the coin on which you land). Turns out the reason my son’s body was possessed by those two murder victims was because he placed them there. Call him a demon, a reaper, a summoner… who cares anymore. All I know is that my son, my true son, isn’t what I remembered him to be… and perhaps he never was. Looking back, I should have known all along that he was evil reincarnate. It would have been better to have Nimer, Sr. and Bridget around.

There were signs: animal abuse, speaking in tongues (though I thought it was just kid gibberish), the cutting. And this was before the first possession. It’s not worth getting into the details anymore. It only excites you all further and that is all this was for you all. My family’s torture was just your entertainment. What in the Hell was I thinking coming to you people?

I’ll end this by just mentioning how amazingly creative a 4-year-old murderer can be (lock up your household chemicals and knife set). One would have to be “creative” to be able to pull victims within his own human form only to relive their murders again, decades after they happened. What kind of vile evil finds enjoyment from something like that? It is probably the same reason he kept me alive; for the torture of it. It’s probably why he picked that poor Bridget girl…the abuse and the torture…and the septic tank…it has left me no choice but to question my faith now. If there is a God, he will understand why I did what I did. He will know it was what needed to be done.

Redditors, cops, whoever reads this, please consider this my confession letter. While I did not kill everyone that is currently rotting in my basement, I am the one who killed the boy on the race car bed. And I’ll be the one lying on the floor next to him.

Sincerely,

Sarah

P.S. Mom and Dad, I am so sorry. Please forgive me and please believe me when I say that it was the only choice. I love you both so much.

Credit To – StupidDialUp

Did Boy Kill? The Visits of Mister Bob

June 14, 2013 at 12:00 AM

This is Part 4 of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the previous installments in the linked tag.

Much has happened over the past week since I last posted so let me get you all up to speed.

Timmy, Jr., or should I say Bridget S____, doesn’t recognize that she is trapped in a 4-year-old boy’s body. She does what kids are supposed to do at this age (plays with toys, loves running around outside, watches Disney shows, eats on a routine schedule, etc.). What’s odd is she has been speaking like a 19-year-old having a conversation with a stranger at a coffee shop. It has been so hard to explain Timmy’s behavior to people (we mostly lie) but it was most difficult to explain it to a shrink.

We decided not to visit the shrink recommended by the hospital. They already were looking at us cockeyed when Timmy, Jr. was first brought into the emergency room last week. We eventually met with Dr. Hamani, an India-born psychiatrist and neurologist that was recommended to us from a close friend, a few days after Bridget possessed Timmy, Jr. Our friend said that this doctor would be sympathetic to our situation. I was not quite sure what that meant at the time. It could have meant the doctor may have not thrown me and my husband into the psych-ward with our son. At least not right away. Truth be told, that was one of the reasons why we waited so long to seek help. It’s a difficult proposition to explain to people what we have seen and been through. It’s hard not to be skeptical, hell, a part of me is still skeptical that this is just a nightmare and that I’d wake any minute. But I know it isn’t.

For the first couple sessions with Dr. Hamani, we tried to limit the details of what happened the night Melvin Nimer, Jr. killed Timmy, Jr. We explained that Timmy awoke from a dream screaming and that he stopped breathing until Timmy, Sr. resuscitated him. After handing him the police and doctors reports from that night (of course omitting the truth of that night), we explained how he has was now Bridget. It didn’t take long for Dr. Hamani to know that we were hiding something, hiding quite a bit. We soon found out why our friend felt the doctor would be sympathetic to us. Dr. Hamani came from very deep Hindu roots. After a couple sessions, it did not take long for him to become fascinated with the prospect of Timmy, Jr. being an instrument of reincarnation or possession. And after we told him the whole story, he quickly became obsessed with our case and hourly sessions became hours and daily.

General conversations with Timmy, Jr. (Bridget really), Dr. Hamani learned what we had already known; that she was a young southern girl from Louisiana and that she thought it was in the 1970’s. At that point we explained everything we found (articles found about her murder, where she was dumped to die and how it correlated with her nightmares, and about the murderer). She did not let on to the doctor that she knew she was murdered, just that she didn’t know where she was but just that she liked us. The doctor felt it was odd that she remembers so much of her past life but nothing about her murder. He was still skeptical about whether Timmy, Jr. was indeed Bridget. That was until he put him under hypnosis.

There are some portals that are meant to stay closed. Sometimes one must venture thru out of necessity. Our necessity was to find out where our son was or whether he ever actually existed at all. We needed to know the truth, one way or the other. I think Dr. Hamani understood this which is why he held Timmy, Jr. under hypnosis more than any other patient in his 35 years of medical practice. Unfortunately, in the pursuit of truth, you do not always find the answers you are hoping to find. And sometimes, the truth is far worse.

The sessions started simple enough. Dr. Hamani had Tim and I sit in another room and watch over his video monitors and listen via speakers. After putting Timmy under, the doctor spoke directly to Bridget. This was unexpected for the doctor since he expected the real Timmy to come out right away in his subconscious mind. As the session progressed, Dr. Hamani started to ask direct questions about the last things she remembered before showing up in my son’s body (to which she still has no comprehension). Looking back, I deeply regret that he asked.

She detailed how she was leaving a local drug store when a man in a work van approached her for help finding his little girl. She remembered being dragged into the back of his van and hit repeatedly in the face until she blacked out. She remembered being chained to a bed in some drab mobile home. She remembered being violated in ways, and with tools, that only could have been imagined by the Devil himself. She remembered the scratching and the knocking coming from underneath the thin floors of the trailer. She remembered the searing pain of her legs and arms being broken as he was stuffing her limp and defeated body into that septic tank. And she remembered the smell, the vomiting, the rising sewage with presumably every flush, and her eventual drowning in a sea of piss and shit. All of it, all of the details and emotional throws of indescribable torture, was spoken from the mouth of my 4-year-old boy.

He lied there, whimpering. We all sat there quiet, stunned. All of the details, most of them confirmed in the articles the Redditor’s found last week that I mentioned in my 3rd entry, were overwhelming. I had never been so defeated. It was as though this murderer reached out of my boy’s mouth and slaughtered a part of me and my husband. But even our devastation from witnessing this interview failed in comparison to what this girl went through and what my son’s fragile mind was experiencing again, and yet, for the first time. Feeling defeated, however, could not quell the fear in us when we heard my son scream out, petrified and lonely in his own voice, “Mommy!”

At that point, his body started to convulse and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. I couldn’t count how many voices started to spew out of my son’s mouth. It was as though dozens of tortured souls were clawing their way out of my son’s throat, each fighting to be heard, and each fighting to escape…escape from my son, escape from someone, escape from something…I just don’t know what it was. He collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted. I ran to the door to try to go into the room to do something, anything, even if it was just to hold him and comfort him, but I could not open the locked door. Tim yelled out, “Sarah, he is sitting up!”

I ran back to the monitor to check on how my son was doing. Dr. Hamani was trying to communicate with him but Timmy was unresponsive. You could tell he wasn’t sure if Timmy was still under hypnosis or not. So to make sure, the doctor started to count down from ten to one and lightly snapped his fingers to end the hypnosis. When he did, Timmy’s eyes looked up in the doctor’s direction, quickly lifted his finger and started to yell. It wasn’t Timmy though, it was Bridget, and she yelled, “No Mister Bob, please no! Not again Mister Bob! Why are you here?! Please leave me alone!”

Timmy passed out face forward and slammed his head sharply on the coffee table in front of him. My husband kicked down the door and we ran into the room. I went to check on my son and found him bleeding profusely from his forehead and nose from the fall. Tim was looking everywhere around the room to see who Bridget was talking to, not that he could have done anything even if he found him. He knew, just like I knew, that Bridget’s murderer was named Robert “Bob” Hohenberger and that he committed suicide a few weeks after Bridget’s body was found in that septic tank in 1978.

Dr. Hamani has decided to stay with us at our home until we figure something out. I know he cares for Timmy, but I think he needs to see what we saw when Melvin Nimer, Jr. visited us. Something like this shakes you to the core and like I said before, it makes you question everything you think you know. Though Dr. Hamani disagrees with the decision, we are expecting a visit from the priest tomorrow.

It’s been a couple days since the doctor has moved in and he has witnessed the night terrors we described. Timmy (Bridget) has also seen “Bob” on five different occasions, each visit is short but they are getting more intense for Bridget, but we have not seen him like we saw Nimer, Jr. I’m convinced this is his way of torturing Bridget.

We have also watched the hypnosis session tapes over and over. We are still unsure of how many voices we heard, even after listening to the tapes repeatedly (a horrible, horrible task). We are up to 23.

In the video footage, we also saw what Bridget was pointing at. It was hard to make out what Bob had in his hand, but like I said, I’m convinced he is torturing Bridget all over again.

The only thing keeping me hopeful at the moment is that I KNOW I heard my Timmy call out for me. That was my son I heard before all of those other voices came tumbling through. I’m turning over every rock I can looking for help. If anyone reading this has any ideas or finds anything in research that may help answer our questions or help put a stop to this, please post below and let us know. We are desperate!

Credit To – StupidDialUp

Did Boy Kill? Part 3

June 13, 2013 at 12:00 AM

This is Part 3 of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the previous installments in the linked tag.

Thanks to Redditors who asked not to be mentioned in this story, we think we have uncovered who has, for lack of a better term, “possessed” my son. I owe a great deal of gratitude to the people who linked me to this article, dated May 28th, 1978 from the Eugene, Oregon Register-Guard paper: [Third Dead Teenager Found in Louisiana].

I have no doubt that my son has become this woman. The things he has said and the way he has said them have me thoroughly convinced. Here is a four year old boy talking about prom dresses, marijuana, and “her” fears of sex in a perfect southern accent. Combine that with his uncanny knowledge of events from the time in question and I am left with little doubt. Apparently my son has become Bridget S___., age 19 from Morgan City, Louisiana. She, along with three other teenagers, were bound, raped then murdered. Ms. S___ was eventually tied up, weighted down, and stuffed into a septic tank, only to be found several weeks after her kidnapping. I cannot fathom what she went through, and from our conversations, neither can she.

As I noted in the previous entry, she only gives hints to these atrocities: waking up with great pain in her genital area and/or vomiting due to some phantom smell when she gets awaken from a nightmare (probably the smell of the septic tank). I haven’t the foggiest idea of how to approach my son/Ms. S___ with this new found information. After we left the hospital on the night of my son’s “death,” we were referred to a psychiatrist for further evaluation. So we are going to seek outside help wherever we can find it. My husband and I are also Catholic so we have put in a call to a Priest who “specializes” in these sorts of things from what our church has informed us.

As for the next steps from there, I am at a loss as to how to approach “her” now that we know who she is? Then there are the really difficult questions: Do we dig further into her past and try to approach the family (the thought of doing this devastates me)? Do we try to explain to “her” what has happened in order for her to be at peace? If we do that and she leaves, will our son die or will another spirit take him over? Does my son (the way we knew him for the last four years) even exist or was he Nimer, Sr. all along? I fear that with each answer I seek it will only lead to more, difficult questions.

Oddly enough, these are not the questions that keep me up at night. Only one question does and it comes to mind because of this second article that a Redditor found for me: [Police Officer Sought Car, Found Fugitive]

Now that I know who her killer was, what he has done, what he looks like, and the fact that he is dead, I fear he will search for my son, just like Nimer, Jr. did. How do you stop a murdering rapist pederast ghoul from hunting down a four-year-old boy? My four-year-old boy…

Credit To – StupidDialUp

Did Boy Kill? Yes He Did.

June 12, 2013 at 12:00 AM

This is Part 2 of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the previous installments in the linked tag.

My husband and I are alive. My son is not, well not in the way that we knew him. I’m not quite sure if he ever was alive or if he was ever really there. Not sure what to believe anymore.

Melvin, Jr. did come to our house the next evening. I wanted to go far away for that night but my husband was having none of it. Said I was being overly paranoid, even accused me of being drunk. My son, of course, denied having the conversation. It was almost as if he forgot he told me about his past-life, or whatever it was.

I made sure Timmy, Jr. slept with us that night. I refused to let him out of my sight all day. The waiting and not knowing was debilitating. I remember sitting with my aunt at her house when I was 15 years old. She was waiting to hear from the authorities after getting a call that my cousin and uncle were in a boating accident. It took a week for them to call off the search. It took two months to be told that parts of them washed up on shore. I remember thinking back then that the knowing, though tragic, was better than the waiting. That thought held true for me.

Exhausted by every panic-laced minute that passed during the day, I drifted asleep with Timmy, Jr. in my arms. I woke with a young boy, the same eight-year-old boy in the photo of the article, hovering over me, about six inches from my face. He had what I assumed was a knife to my cheek (it was too close to my eye for me to make it out for sure). Paralyzed by fear, I lay frozen in a blank stare at this ghost. He leaned in a little closer to me and whispered, “Mommy, your skin…I want to peel it.”

I screamed in a way that seemed to vibrate the bed. As I did, my husband and son woke, and the boy from the photo lifted his knife and thrust downward. I raised my arms to block him and my husband leapt over to protect me and Timmy Jr. The knife went through my arms and past my husband’s torso like a specter until it landed squarely in my son’s neck. Timmy, Jr. began to convulse as though the knife electrified every nerve in his body. My husband started to throw fists at Melvin Jr., swinging through him and hitting nothing. I tried to console my boy, to shake him out of it, as I lay halfway through the ghost. I tried grasping at the knife in his chest and then tried covering the visible rip in his chest but the knife wasn’t physical and the wound had no blood. I still cannot comprehend what happened.

When Timmy, Jr.’s body stopped shaking, Melvin Jr. disappeared and my son died. My husband tried CPR on my son in an attempt to try to resuscitate him. I sat on the bed next to him, sobbing uncontrollably. When I heard my son cough, I called out his name and prematurely hugged my husband in a relieved embrace.

Timmy Jr. opened his eyes, shifted them to me and started to talk in a way I have never heard him speak. He spoke to us like a southern belle, confused and startled as though “she” woke from a coma.

It’s been a few days since he died and came back to life. My husband and I have been having many interesting conversations with our “son.” Apparently his new name is Bridget S. (I cannot make out the last name due to the accent, maybe “Songs” or “Suds” or something like that) and “she” apparently is from Louisiana. From the conversations we have had she was probably around 18 or 19-years-old and lived in the late 70’s. Timmy, Jr. also has not been sleeping well. He will wake up in a horrible pain, grabbing his private parts in agony or he will wake up and begin to vomit because “she” can’t stand the “smell.” I do not know what any of it means but it may be a clue. Can any of you help me find out more details about this “Bridget” woman? I need to know if something else is coming after my son.

Credit To – StupidDialUp

Did Boy Kill?

June 9, 2013 at 12:00 PM

This is Part 1 of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the other installments in the linked tag.

I had an incredibly interesting conversation today with someone I love deeply. I do not know what to make of it, but what I do know is that our foundation has cracked, whether he knows it or not. It was one of those conversations that make you question everything you think you know…about everything.

As I enjoyed a glass of wine after he and I had dinner, we sat across from each other on the floor in our living room when he started the following conversation:

“Did you know I used to live here many years ago?”

“Did you now?” I answered, with a smirk knowing I was about to hear some fantastical story.

“Yep. I used to play with my son in that park across the street. He loved to swing on the tire rope hanging from that huge tree.”

“So you had a son?”

“Yep. He’s a lot older now but I saw him this morning for the first time in a very long time, right there in that park.”

“I don’t remember seeing you talk to anyone.”

“You must have been talking to your neighbor friend. I would have let you say ‘hi’ but he is still very angry with me.”

“Why would your son be angry with you? You are the sweetest guy I know!”

“Well the last time I saw him, he had a knife to my throat.”

At this point I sat up to re-position myself against the foot of the sofa. “Honey, you had a son you never told me about and the last time you saw him he had a knife to your throat? I’ve seen you almost every day for the last four years and you never mentioned this to me.”

“I never thought I had to, but when I saw him today it reminded me.”

“Reminded you of what exactly?” I curtly asked.

“Just that I saw him and that the last time I did, we were here in this room. It was many years ago.”

“Wait, you lived here many years ago? What do you mean?”

“Yeah, many years ago, when I was older. Me, Melvin Jr. and Lou Jean lived here.”

“Who is Lou Jean?” I questioned, starting to get a bit uncomfortable with each parlay of the conversation.

“My wife from long ago silly! I haven’t seen her since I last saw my boy. Always wished I’d see her again. We actually met at the old creek right up Anderson Road.”

That creek had not been around for over 40 years, there is no way he would have known about it had he not lived here. Utterly baffled at that point, I pressed on with the talk since it was completely unexpected and compelling all the same, “Where is she?”

“Oh, I don’t know. In heaven I guess.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, she died?”

“Well yeah, Melvin Jr. cut her and she was breathing weirdly but I couldn’t wake her up. He cut her right there where you are sitting.”

My wine glass almost slipped out of my hand at the shock of the comment. It spilled slightly as I went to catch it, splattering across the white carpet.

“Looked a lot like that actually,” he noted, unaffected.

“I hate to admit it sweetie, but you are starting to scare me.”

“Sorry. I wanted you to know, since I saw him again today and all. He is just so angry. I don’t know why he is so angry. Didn’t know why back then either. Last thing he said today was that he was coming back here tomorrow night.”

“Okay, you can stop making up this story now. It’s not amusing anymore. You are really starting to scare me.”

“It’s okay, I am scared too. I don’t think he is coming to see you. He knows I am here though so he will probably come see me again. Seeing him with the knife was the last thing I remember before showing up here with you and ….”

Suddenly, we heard the front door handle begin to jiggle and I let out a scream in panic. The door flung open and my husband ran in, terrified. “Sarah, what’s wrong? Why were you screaming!” my husband asked as he grabbed me to console me.

“Oh thank god it was just you, Tim! You scared me half to death!” As I sat up and tried wiping the rest of the wine off of my nightgown, my husband moved to the kitchen and grabbed some paper towels to assist me. “I was having a very odd conversation with our Mr. Junior here. He was telling me about how, in a previous life, he was married once and had a child here in this house many years ago. And he was also telling me how his son killed his wife with a knife. Even had a knife to his throat at one point.”

“Oh is that so, Junior?” Tim asked half-heartedly, looking over to find Junior staring at the open front door with a blank, blink-less expression.

“But mom, he said he was coming tomorrow night,” Junior mumbled, almost in a whisper, as he pointed to the front door.

My neck whipped around so fast I thought it was going to rip right off my shoulders. As I peered into the door left open by Tim, I called out to Junior exasperated but relieved, “But honey, there is no one there! Tim, shut the door please…quickly please.”

As Tim reached the door, my four year old son coldly spoke, “He was standing behind dad when he came in and he’s there now, Mom. He is looking right at you.”

Transfixed at the closing crack of the door, I saw nothing but the night in the distance and yet I felt everything from tonight’s conversation; relieved it’s not tomorrow but petrified that it will be.

It’s been several hours since my husband and son went to bed. Unable to sleep, I decided to do some research. I found this article online: [Did Boy Kill?]

Like the Nimer family, I live on Staten Island and tomorrow, I think we are going to die.

Credit To – StupidDialUp

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